


You Don't Know What Love Is (You Just Do As You're Told)

by ems



Category: Merlin (BBC) RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-26
Updated: 2010-10-26
Packaged: 2017-10-12 22:13:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/129690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ems/pseuds/ems
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Colin decides it's time he gets to be in charge for once.  And there are walls.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Don't Know What Love Is (You Just Do As You're Told)

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** RPS is wrong, kids. And I don't own Colin or Bradley - they just own my soul.  
>  **Author's Notes:** Wall!sex. Lots of wall!sex. And also it's maybe a little bit D/s. Written for Claudia's [Great Merlin Slam Fest](http://i-claudia.livejournal.com/45011.html), so blame her and the devil on my shoulder who whispered something about Colin (I AM LOOKING AT YOU, Lilla). ALSO how hilarious is it that my filename for the draft of this fic was, quite by accident, "Merlin wall"? Ho ho ho. Title is from the White Stripes song of the same name, which makes me laugh because it says "just as a child of ten might act / but you're far too old" and that lyric is just so Bradley.

They have settled into quite a nice pattern, now, eight months in. They come back from filming, usually nursing a variety of bruises from flying about a green screen (Colin) or being thumped with swords (Bradley), have a couple of drinks in the bar with whoever's around (Angel – white wine, Antony – lager, Richard – single malt, and Katie – surprisingly – single malt again) before heading up to Bradley's room to crash out in front of the telly or a DVD. They always go to Bradley's room because it's tidier, and Bradley claims to be allergic to clutter. Colin thinks he's only allergic to HIS clutter, because Bradley always has about ten pairs of trainers, four dumbbells, nine pairs of sunglasses and a selection of fancy gadgets cluttering up every available surface, whereas Colin's mess is mostly of the dirty washing/books/French newspapers variety. Still, Colin is pretty much happy to go along with whatever Bradley wants, because he is more laid back in general, and because he hates how fidgety and annoying Bradley gets if he doesn't get his own way. Colin's mam used to tell him that if he was any more laid back "you'd be horizontal!", whereas Bradley is a constant ball of skittish, nervous energy, always wanting to do something or go somewhere. Frankly, it's exhausting just watching him.

Colin has learnt fairly quickly that the only time Bradley is calm is straight after sex, which seems to be mostly an exercise in Bradley working out his extra energy. It's fantastic, of course, and it leaves Colin floating in a sort of floppy state of limbless satiation that makes him feel like he possesses a body purely so that he can feel this fucking good, and if he occasionally wishes that he could top, maybe, or set the pace, possibly, it's counter-balanced by how much he enjoys that post-fuck feeling after Bradley has finished thoroughly shagging the life out of him. And so, for months, it has been the same way – they settle down to watch something, and then halfway through the DVD (about forty-five minutes is really the limit of Bradley's concentration span – it had taken them four days to get through the first Lord of the Rings film and Colin really didn't have the heart to attempt the third) Bradley will turn over to Colin with that look in his eye, the kind of look that reminds Colin that Bradley is a thoroughly unrepentant carnivore, and before he knows where he is, Colin will find himself face-down in the pillows, or getting carpet burns on his knees, or tied to the headboard, or pressed against cold shower-tiles with deliciously hot water running between his back and Bradley's broad chest. And it's always wonderful, the kind of sex Colin didn't really think was real until he met Bradley and his whole life became a brilliant, chaotic, unplanned whirlwind punctuated by a series of fantastic shags.

But sometimes Colin wants a little more.

He's not a demonstrative person, really. He lets Bradley take the lead, most of the time; in their scenes, because that's the sort of person Merlin is, he decides, he holds back for fear or revealing too much, and in interviews, because Bradley is naturally funny and he, Colin, is just naturally awkward, and whenever Bradley shoves a camera in his face Colin is happy to be a stooge, to be riffed on, because it still makes his stomach flip over when he and Bradley fall into the easy, affectionate banter that made him fall in love with him in the first place. But it's becoming a bit of a running joke on-set, that Bradley is in charge; he has heard more than one person refer to him as Bradley's wife, and even though it's just a joke, and they both laugh over it, and Bradley makes a few cracks about Colin making him dinner and so on, it all adds to Colin's vague sense of irritation that he appears to have been given a passive role in this relationship without ever really thinking about it.

Things have to change, Colin thinks, and he snatches his opportunity one evening when Bradley and Anthony have to stay late. Bradley kisses Colin goodbye behind a conveniently placed piece of set, roughly scraping stubble against Colin's jaw. "I'll see you in my room, yeah?" he says, nipping at Colin's bottom lip, roughly. "Fuck, I want you. Be ready for me." he growls, throatily. Colin nods, and watches Bradley's retreating figure in silence.

Angel, passing, looks concerned. "Did you guys have a fight, Col?" she asks, slipping her arm through his as they head back to the hotel.

"No, no," Colin says, half-laughing, "not a fight. Not yet!" Angel widens her eyes in silent alarm. "Don't worry, Angel. Everything's fine. I'm just… asserting my status." he says, waggling his eyebrows mysteriously.

"Lucky Bradley!" comes a voice from behind them, and Colin sees Katie floating past, her nose (as usual) buried in a book. "S'about time you made HIM squeal, for once." Colin thinks he detects the hint of a smirk on her face, but he is too busy furiously blushing all the way to the roots of his hair to think of a reply.

Angel laughs merrily, depositing Colin at the hotel bar with a playful shove. "Get some dutch courage in you, Colin, and go enjoy yourself." She smiles at him, sweetly.

Colin beams at her. He loves Angel in an uncomplicated way he has never experienced with anyone before. It almost makes him wish he were straight, because being Angel's boyfriend would be a damn sight easier than dealing with Bradley's bizarre, puppy-dog moodswings. But then he thinks about Bradley's strong arms, his jaw, his chest, his – let's be honest, here – his perfectly sculpted arse, and all he can think about is having his way with him tonight.

He sets off for Bradley's room with a renewed sense of purpose. Katie's door, just down the corridor from Bradley's, is open, and she's lying on the bed reading with her feet in the air, turning the pages with one hand and absent-mindedly eating strawberries with the other. "Katie?" he says, pausing in her door-frame.

She looks up from her book.

"You might want to put your earplugs in tonight." He flashes her a wicked grin, and immediately turns to leave. He's about halfway down the corridor when he feels Katie's arms flung round his neck.

She plants a huge kiss on his cheek and leans her mouth close to whisper in his ear, wickedly. "Knock him dead, Morgan."

* * *

When Bradley trudges back towards the hotel that evening, he is exhausted and cross and all out of sorts. The scene hadn't gone well, and they will have to go back again tomorrow. It doesn't matter how long he's in this game, he hates not being able to nail something, especially when he's working with someone like Anthony who is a composite professional. He's looking forward to seeing Colin, but he's suddenly aware of every aching muscle and a sense of sheer fatigue which makes him wonder if he's really in the mood for making good on his earlier promise. He desperately needs to forget about today and just totally relax. Maybe, he thinks, as he reaches his door and slides in the keycard, Colin will be happy to chill out, watch some tv, have an early night that actually involves sleeping for once.

But his thoughts are rudely interrupted as he is slammed, hard, against the wall, and as his eyes grow accustomed to the dim light in the room he can make out Colin's face, pressed close to his own.

"I've had enough, Bradley," Colin drawls, in that delicious lilt that still turns the depths of Bradley's stomach into a pool of molten liquid, "of being the one that gets ordered about." He pins Bradley's wrists to the wall above his head with one hand. "My turn." he murmurs, his lips brushing against the soft skin beneath Bradley's ear. "Get on your knees."

Bradley hardly has time to take a breath and process what's happening before a firm hand runs through his hair and pushes him to the ground. He's trapped between Colin and the wall and the adrenaline is racing through his veins, completely shaking him out of his lethargy. This is new, and different, and unexpected, and Bradley can't quite tell if he likes it or not, but he does know that his cock is suddenly impossibly hard, straining against the stiff fabric of his jeans, and the voice in his head is screaming at him not to stop.

He unbuckles Colin's belt and is surprised to find that his hands are shaking. Colin is hard already, beads of precome forming on the head of his cock. God, Bradley loves Colin's cock. He has forgotten, he thinks, how amazing it is to run the tip of his tongue around the head and hear Colin's half-formed words and moans, how good and right it feels to slide it between his lips and tease and torture Colin with slow, drawn-out licks and-

Suddenly the back of his head meets the wall, sharply, painfully, as Colin slams his hips forward, thrusting his entire length down Bradley's throat. Bradley chokes a little, moans, but obediently sets to work, running his tongue along the shaft of Colin's cock as he draws away, swirling around the head, and almost immediately taking him back down, half of his own initiative and half forced by Colin's hands in his hair, tugging him back onto his cock. "Fuck, Bradley. That's good, that's good." Colin groans, leaning one hand against the wall for balance. "Like that."

Bradley can't help but unzip his own jeans and begin frantically tugging at his cock. He is the strangest mixture of aroused and frightened. He hardly knows this Colin, has no idea what he'll do next. He feels completely helpless and images flash through his mind, unbidden, of himself tied up, at Colin's mercy, unable to control what's happening. He moans against Colin's thick shaft, having to stop himself from coming at the thought, desperate to but also not wanting this to end. But Colin knows, somehow, recognises the sound Bradley makes, and he pulls his cock away from Bradley's mouth with a gasp, clutching at Bradley's collar and pulling him back up so he's leaning against the wall, pinned there by Colin's body. "Oh, no, no. No you don't." Colin hisses, one hand snaking around Bradley's waist. You don't come until I say you can."

Bradley lets out a little noise of distress, and goes to push Colin towards the bed. "Not tonight, Bradley." Colin says, a smile playing on his lips. Bradley can't help but lean in to capture the smile with his own, and Colin kisses him back with a fierceness that takes Bradley's breath away. His stubble scrapes painfully at Bradley's face, and as Colin licks into his mouth hungrily, possessively, he feels his knees weaken and is glad of the support of the cold wall against his back. Colin's hand is on his cock and he's dizzy with arousal, his head spinning, his body awash with sensation. He is dimly aware of his own voice, somewhere far away, moaning, begging; "Please, Col… please… I have to- I need-"

"Need what?" Colin says, his voice harsh.

"Need you, you…" Bradley replies, trying to shake the fog from his head.

"You want me?" Colin's hands are at the small of his back now, snaking lower to his firm ass. "You want me, Bradley?" he repeats, long, slim fingers playing at Bradley's entrance.

Bradley groans, realizing Colin's intention. Of course, they have done this before, they have taken it slowly and gently as it was a new experience for Bradley, and he has enjoyed it, but he has never managed to come from it – it's too strange, too new, too different, and in amongst all the ways Colin Morgan has changed his life, it has always been just too much. But now he finds his cock throbbing with want, his limbs heavy, his body ordering him to give in, to surrender himself entirely to Colin, Colin who he loves and wants and needs, always. He takes a deep breath. "I want you, Col, I want you _so much_."

Colin is almost undone at those words, a stubborn lump rising in his throat as he hears the love behind them, knowing how much Bradley means by them. But it's overtaken by a huge, towering, raging want, a need to pin Bradley to the wall and fuck him, fuck him hard until he's spent. He turns Bradley's body around, pushing both his hands against the wall, grinding his cock against his arse obscenely. "I'm going to fuck you so hard," – a groan from Bradley – "so hard you forget your own name, Bradley James."

"Please, Colin, now." Bradley's begging now, resting his forehead against the wall. "Please."

Colin reaches to his dresser for lube, slicks his fingers, runs them over the crack of Bradley's arse, slipping first one, and then two fingers into the hot hole. He bites Bradley's shoulder as he pushes them past the ring of muscle, and Bradley cries out at the sharp pain, from one or the other. Colin trails kisses over his neck, his back, his throat as he works his fingers deftly, and Bradley is sure his knees will give way any minute as Colin finds nerve endings he didn't even know existed, sending pleasure and pain shooting through his spine like fireworks. Colin's fingers withdraw – Bradley whimpers – but then he feels the head of Colin's cock pushing against him, pushing into him, slowly, possessively, firmly.

Colin sucks a kiss into the delicate skin of Bradley's throat, marking him. "You're mine." he says, and at those words he slams his hips forward and buries himself to the hilt inside Bradley.

Bradley doesn't know how he stops from coming as sensation floods his whole body, too sharp to be pleasure and too wonderful to be pain. He wails incoherently, a babble of pleading and gratitude and endearments as Colin begins to move inside him, one hand pinning Bradley's wrists against the wall, the other running over his chest, his stomach, his thighs. "Fuck, Bradley… so tight… and mine, all mine…" he whispers hoarsely, moving faster and deeper. "You're so- God, so… Fuck…"

Bradley is fucking back against him, now, moving his hips with Colin's rhythm, his mind a steady stream of fragmented thoughts of _how fucking amazing this is_ and _why didn't we do this before?_ and _I want him, I want him, forever, forever_ and he thinks he must have said the last one out loud because Colin is echoing it against his shoulder and bringing his hand down to Bradley's cock and just a few sharp tugs are all it takes to tip Bradley over the edge, splashing thick ropes of come over the wall, crying out Colin's name as he feels him explode inside him, pushed over by Bradley's arse contracting and tightening around him, and they're coming together, Colin's forehead pressed against the back of Bradley's neck, murmuring into his skin, words that mark Bradley as his own as much as the bruises forming on his throat and the cock still buried inside him.

It could be seconds that they stand there, or minutes. Bradley can't tell, really, his mind is empty of anything but the feeling of Colin's steadying breath against his skin and his chest pressed to his back. He turns to face him, wrapping his arms around Colin's shoulders, pressing his lips to Colin's forehead.

"That was-" he begins, but is interrupted by Colin.

"Are you okay, Bradley? Are we okay?"

Colin's voice sounds sort of small, more like the Colin Bradley knew up until about forty minutes ago.

"That depends, Col." Bradley says, seriously. "Are you going to do that to me again?"

Colin starts, and meets his eyes. "Bradley, I-"

"Because you bloody well better."

Colin laughs, and pulls him over to the bed. They fall into a tangle of heavy limbs. Bradley can't ever remember feeling so comfortable, so relaxed, his entire body filled with hot, molten lead. He feels thoroughly possessed, owned, and he has never felt so safe and warm in his life. He sighs contentedly, Colin's breathing lulling him into a dreamless sleep.

Colin takes a moment to congratulate himself on the success of his experiment. "You know me, Bradley," he whispers against the back of Bradley's neck, mouth curving into a smile. "I always do what I'm told."


End file.
